


Marks

by pixiespirits



Category: The Following
Genre: Cults, Edgar Allen Poe, F/M, Murder, Past Abuse, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-02-25 16:03:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2627744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixiespirits/pseuds/pixiespirits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“There are moments when even to the sober eye of reason, the world of our sad humanity may assume the semblance of Hell. ”<br/>-Edgar Allen Poe</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Loyalties

 

_I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry._

 

I keep repeating it my head, but I know I could never say these words aloud. JOe would be so disappointed. Death is supposed to be beautiful, it’s supposed to be art. But as I sat with the others at this crummy little bar, I couldn’t help but make eye contact with each one of the customers; one would be my victim.

 

“Well?” Josiah questions, a horrible grin on his face. “Who’s it gonna be, Bones?”

 

I cringe internally at the nickname they gave me as usual, but harden myself as take another glance around the room. A middle aged lady was talking loudly in a booth, her blonde hair flipping with every word she said. She turned her head slightly and with a jolt I realized the shocking resemblance she had with my mother. Tears stung my eyes, my sight was tinted red.

 

I knew.

 

“That’s the one.” I try to keep my voice steady, but it obviously breaks.

 

Josiah studies me for a moment, his lip curling slightly. He leans in close to my ear.

 

“If you don’t do it, I will.”  I turn to him, a look of relief on my face, only to be taken aback by his sneer. “And then I’ll do you.”

 

I glare at him, but can hear my own heart thudding as I lean across the bar, smiling teasingly at the bartender. He grins back at me, sliding a shot my way with a wink. I down it quickly, my heartbeat speeding as I see the lady move towards the bathroom. I make brief eye contact with the others and set out.

 

She was just fixing her hair in the mirror as I walked in, and I slide the blade from my jacket pocket. My vision was blurry, but I take a step towards her, watching her smile up at me. Her eyes are the same color as my moms. I lift the knife.

 

“Stop! FBI!” A loud voice comes from outside the bathroom and I drop the blade in shock.

 

The woman gapes at me, clearly terrified, but says nothing as I run out the door. Josiah sat at the bar, his back turned to the police. Ryan Hardy stood before us, his gun raised with the cops behind him.

 

_I’m gonna die._

 

I gasp as I see the cute bartender lying dead behind the bar, but I’m more disturbed by the calm smile of Josiah. I’m painfully aware of the guns pointed at me as I slowly make my way to Josiah.

 

“What happened?” I whisper, my voice shaking.

 

He just shrugs, his words ringing loud in clear through the room. I wish he would be quiet, I felt like they would just shoot us on spot, never give us a chance to surrender.

 

“They were waiting for us.”

 

Another voice breaks through the silence.

 

“Brooklyn. Look at me.”

 

I turn around slowly, tears streaming down my face. Ryan was lowering his gun, his eyes pleading.

 

“You can get out of this. You’re practically homefree.” He stammers, obviously trying to keep his tone light with a shaky laugh. “Your mom misses you. Did you know that? It’s been years.”

 

I shake my head, trying not to yell at him. He didn’t understand.

 

“You don’t know anything.”

 

He drops his gun on the floor, reaching a hand out to me.

 

“I don’t need to.”

 

I look to Josiah, his face is completely calm. He just stares back at me expectantly, his eyes piercing mine. I rip my gaze away from him, tasting the bitter bile rise in my throat. I take one hesitant step forward, and immediately hear Josiah jump from the stool. A blade was pushing on my throat quicker than I thought possible.

 

“Don’t!” Ryan shouts, stepping towards us.

 

Josiah tisks me, his lips right on my ear. I never felt anything as disgusting as his warm, liquor filled breath wafting across my face.

 

“That wasn’t such a good decision, huh, Bones?”

 

“Please!” I beg, trying to lean away from the sting on the knife prodding my throat.

 

“No. You little fucking traitor, what am I supposed to do now?”

 

Ryan takes another step forward. “You can get out of this too.” He pleads with him.

 

“Ha! No, I can’t. I’m a killer! I’m a murderer! I like it.”

 

His grip of me loosens as he dramatically shouts, and I take the opportunity to slip from his arms. He was much quicker than me and he lunges forward, sinking the blade into my shoulder. Gunshots ring through the air, but I don’t turn to see if he was dead. I collapse to the ground, pain shooting through my body.

 

The paramedics are on top of me in seconds, lifting me onto a gurney. I numbly watch them work on me, only crying out as they cut my jacket to get to the wound. I turn my head at their expressions at the marks all the way the my arms and stomach. They try to keep their faces clear, but I could hear the quiet gasps.

 

“I need to talk to her.” I hear Ryan demand, pushing himself my way.

 

He cringes at the scars too, but with a slight shake of his head, he was back to his extremely professional gaze. I was grateful.

 

“Where is Joe Carrol.” His question was very clear, but it still hurt my head.

 

“I can’t tell you. You know I can’’t. He’ll kill me, they’ll kill me. I’ll never be safe again. “

 

I can tell he’s growing frustrated, but his voice stays steady, surprising me. There was many rumors around the house about how violent he was.

 

“Brooklyn.” I flinch at my own name. The last person to call anything other than Bones was my mom, and that was years ago.  “Once I kill Joe, you’ll be safe.”

 

“No. It’s so much bigger than that. It’s not just Joe. They’re everywhere. They always will be.”

 

He opens his mouth to argue, but a voice interrupts him, calling him to look at some evidence. He squints almost comically between the two of us before sighing heavily, striding across the room.

 

“Mike. Go question her.” Ryan orders, nodding his head at me.

 

A young man walks towards me, his face hard. He doesn’t flinch at the marks, he only gazes at them, almost disgusted. I drape my good arm across my stomach, wishing he would leave, but he continues to stare at them, before finally looking away as I begin to squirm uncomfortably.

 

“Let’s cut to the chase.” He declares, “I’m sure you’ve already gone through the whole ‘where’s Joe’ bit, and I’m sure you know where it’s smart to lay your loyalties. And it’s probably not to the psychopathic serial killers.”

 

I stare blankly at him, tears streaming freely down my cheeks. He sighs, his hands clenching into fists as he leans down closer to me.

 

“We know how close you and Joe are.” He snickers darkly for a moment. “Well. We know how close you think are to Joe.”

 

I shake my head, growing angry. Joe loves me. Joe loves all of us, but Joe knew his priorities, and he was his number one. We had that in common.

 

“My loyalties don’t lie anywhere. I’m not close to anybody. Fuck you.”

 

His eyebrow raises and I see the first hint of a smile on his mouth. A stupid cocky smirk. He suddenly reminds me of every loser ex-boyfriend I’ve had.

 

“Well, then it’s probably best you look out for yourself. And what’s best for you is to tell us everything you know.”

 

I huff miserably and turn my head again, trying to block out his antagonizing chuckle as he walks away.

 

 

 

  



	2. Why?

I struggle against the nurses, writhing violently, ignoring the stabbing pain in my shoulder, when Ryan Hardy walks into the room. I automatically grimace at him, subconsciously holding grudges against him that aren’t my own. I settle down though, I was still internally battling between keeping myself safe from the government or keeping myself safe from Joe.

 

      _Joe._

 

For a fleeting moment I feel a pang of fear confusingly mixed with guilt, but I keep myself composed. I didn’t need any weaknesses right now. Ryan’s gaze pierces mine, and the nurses back off, but I was still caught in my mental dilemma. He was just as silent as I was as he sat in one of the uncomfortable metal chairs in the corner of the room.

 

“Brooklyn.” He starts, sounding as if he was familiar with the feel of my name in his mouth. Like he was a stressed parent lecturing a bratty child.

 

“Listen, Ryan.” I interrupt, mocking his comfortable tone. I was already more than a little irritated, I didn’t need some retired agent acting like my mother.

 

_My mother._

 

The thought echoes in my head for a second, but I shake my head, irrationally angry he lets me continue.

 

“I don’t know where Joe is.”

 

He opens his mouth, but I hold up a finger.

 

“The others and I haven’t seen him in at least a month. We’ve been staying at a safe house.”

 

He sighs and rubs his hands stressfully over his face. Words form on his lips, but none come out. We sit there for a moment, him trying to pierce my eyes with his judgmental stare, all pleading and angry, and me carefully tugging on a loose string on the hospital blanket.

 

Mike walks in, his gaze flying over me like I’ve melted into the bedding, and hands Ryan a folder. This bothers me deeply. I may not be in the best position but I’m a fucking person. My eyes squint into a glare that no one notices, and I huff, settling into the pillows behind me. Ryan flips through the papers, barely skimming, before his face suddenly pinches into a pained expression.

 

I perk up slightly, my curiosity finally catching Mike’s attention, but I wish he went back to ignoring me when I see the familiar full of pity look he gives me. My eyes widen for a half second, but immediately fall back into their usual glare.

 

“What?” I snap, my voice tight. I knew what they were looking at. It was my file. My story. They stare back at me, and Ryan again starts to choke on his words. For the first time, Mike didn’t look at me with disgust.

 

“It was you who killed Bennett Harlan.” He states, ignoring Ryan’s elbowing jabbing him in the ribs. “Your father.”

 

Emotions wash over me and my face flushes bright red with anger. No one had brought up my father for years. Not since I killed him. I was only 17.

 

~~~~

 

_“Brooky!” I flinch at his voice as always, but use all my strength to smile at him. If I don’t make him mad, maybe he won’t do it tonight. He settles in his chair, grinning evilly at me as I walk into the room._

 

_“Why don’t you bring daddy a cup of ice tea?”_

 

_I nod silently, moving to the kitchen quickly, and begin to mix the powder into a pitcher. My mother was at work, she always was when he got home. This is still her fault. She knows. She’s known since I was a little girl._

 

_I pour the tea into a cup and turn around, dropping it in fear. He was standing right in front of me. I glance terrified down at the shattered glass around our feet._

 

_“You know you’re going to have to be punished for that, right, baby?” He smirks, placing his hands on either side me, trapping me in._

 

_I shiver delicately and nod my head, trying to hold back to tears. He hates it when I cry. He grabs my waist, leading me to his room with a crushing grip. But I don’t miss him grab the sharpest knife off the counter._

 

_~~~~_

 

_He collapses next to me, covered in my blood, and smiles at me, ignoring my shuddering sobs as he caresses my bleeding arms._

 

_“You’re so pretty like this, Brooky.”_

 

_I turn away and try to block out his taunting laugh, but notice the gleam of the blade he placed on the end table. I stare at it for only a few seconds, a million thoughts running through my mind. He sits up and stretches, turning to stand up, and I grab the blade with an unknown instinct and thrust it into his back. Again._

_And again._

 

_And again._

~~~~

“Hey.” A quiet voice snaps me from my flashback. “Brooke, are you alright?”

 

Ryan’s hand was resting on my shoulder, and I immediately shake it away. He pulls it away but doesn’t back off.

 

“Why did you kill your father?” His voice was firm, very ‘special agent”, but I again turn my head.

 

Ryan sighs in unison with Mike, who decided it was his turn to step up to the plate. He waves the file in his hand, stepping closer to the hospital bed.

 

“We’re being polite right now. It’s not gonna be very hard for us to find out.” He flips the folder open, skimming a page. “Huh, Brooky?”

 

I gasp, tears rushing down my face in shock. Ryan shakes his head, once again burying his face in his hands.

 

“Fuck you!” I scream, trying to compose myself, trying to stop the tears. Who does he think he is? He didn’t understand anything. Anything. “My father was a lowly, scum of the earth, piece of shit!”

 

Mike raises an eyebrow, his face blank, and leans down to me, saying one word.

 

“Why?”

 

 


End file.
